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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019167">Settlement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_wrestler/pseuds/Heliopause%20Entertainments'>Heliopause Entertainments (sleepy_wrestler)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heliopause's Tumblr Prompts [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Continuity What Continuity, Drabble Collection, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, drabble turned one-shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:20:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_wrestler/pseuds/Heliopause%20Entertainments</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, as part of a peace treaty, Prowl and Starscream are caught in a very, very unwanted arranged marriage.</p><p>Inspired by a series of <a href="https://heliopauseentertainments.tumblr.com/tagged/starprowl">cracky drabbles I wrote for Tumblr</a>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Prowl/Starscream (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heliopause's Tumblr Prompts [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2241108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/PretzelBaron/gifts">PretzelBaron</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prowl could hardly believe it as he stormed into the Prime's office at the rebuilt senate building—not that they had a senate to speak of at this point. It was just the only standing government building in Iacon.</p><p>He'd been kicked out of his tiny apartment. Sure, it was a studio with a cot instead of a real berth, but it was, or rather, <em>had been</em> his. Of course, he normally slept in a cot in his office anyway but that wasn't the point! It was the principal of the thing!</p><p>How <em>dare</em> Starscream lock him out!</p><p>That bastard shouldn't have even been there in the first place but for Rodimus and his <em>asinine</em> 'peace treaty' with Megatron. An arranged marriage as a sign of 'good will'. <em>Bah!</em> They should have just done it themselves and been each other’s punishments, but <em>no</em>. No, they had to <em>delegate</em> the job to their respective seconds.</p><p>And the paperwork had only been signed that morning. Not even by the two parties involved. The faction leaders had signed for them in proxy! That was only legal due to lingering wartime policies that <em>should have been revoked</em> the very <em>moment</em> the ceasefire had been enacted.</p><p>"Rodimus, he's <em>subletting</em> my apartment." Prowl slammed his fist against the Prime's desk. Rodimus was already frowning at him because he had to stay late for this slag.</p><p>Starscream wasn't even <em>living</em> in that crappy studio apartment he'd kicked Prowl out of. The bastard had sublet it out to some random ex-pat ‘Con from Kaon—called himself Thunderhoof—and rented a much bigger apartment in Iacon on Prowl's salary. Who even gave him access to that? It certainly wasn't Prowl. What the hell did Megatron sneak in those arrangement documents? It was like he couldn't have been rid of Starscream soon enough. Not that Prowl could really bring himself to blame the old warlord. Four million years of hanging around that scheming banshee would have driven <em>anyone</em> up the wall.</p><p>"Prowl, listen—"</p><p>"One day and he's taken my <em>home</em>, my <em>salary</em>, and barred from even entering the new apartment he rented with <em>my</em> money!"</p><p>"Look." Rodimus put his hands in the air to stop that train of complaints in its tracks. "Prowl, dude, clearly <em>you</em> gotta be a better conjunx."</p><p>"You don't even know what that means!" <em>Confirmed bachelor</em> wouldn’t know what a committed relationship looked like if it bit him on the aft! Then again, Prowl’s “committed relationships” had all gone rather south…. At least he knew what they looked like! Furthermore, it wasn’t as though he <em>chose</em> Starscream. That slippery eel was thrust upon on him, a result of their equal rank. What the hell was Rodimus getting at?</p><p>"I dunno what else to tell you. I mean like, sure, you’re not exactly… <em>warm</em> and <em>affectionate</em>, but you could, maybe give it a go. Woo him with your… I’d say <em>charms</em> but I can’t. I <em>can’t</em> do it.” Prowl felt his right optic flicker and twitch. “Woo him with your… uh…" The Prime just gestured with a tired hand at what was vaguely Prowl’s entirety, with a special emphasis on his front bumper.</p><p>“Are you <em>insane</em>, Rodimus? Why would I even want to <em>be</em> in the <em>same room</em> as <em>Starscream</em>?!”</p><p>“I mean, you don’t <em>have</em> to—Oh, that reminds me.” Rodimus’ hand disappeared below the line of the desk, rummaging around in a drawer from the sounds of it. “Megs tossed these at my head this morning before practically running out like he just sold me a lemon. Happiest I’ve ever seen him. I think they’re Starscream’s.” </p><p>In short order, what looked like… old-fashioned keys were tossed across the desk towards Prowl. He cautiously reached out to pick them up for examination. Most Autobot systems used electric locks tied to palmprints or rubprints. Why would Starscream possess these <em>antiques</em>? They would be a little more difficult to hack remotely, however.</p><p>
  <em>Hm.</em>
</p><p>"Alright, so I'm gonna clock out now and you're gonna go back to the <em>doghouse</em> that is your office."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You bought <em>how</em> many turbofoxes?”</p><p>“Oh, only twenty-five,” sneered the voice through the intercom. Prowl scowled at the locked door, arms crossed over his chest in distaste. He was still locked out of this new apartment and he’d be promptly ‘turned away’—threatened with violence upon his personage more accurately—by the new tenant in his old apartment. While Prowl didn’t really want in this new apartment, as it was far too big with multiple berthrooms and Starscream was there, he needed to know what he was unwillingly spending his money on.</p><p>“<em>Twenty-five?!</em>”</p><p>“It’s most befitting for a wealthy widower like myself, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“Starscream, given that we both know what constitutes a 'widower’, I can only assume you’re making a threat on my life.”</p><p>“Not at all, with you alive and well but <em>out of my sight</em>, I can keep collecting your <em>salary</em> and <em>benefits</em> in order to be kept in the style to which I have become accustomed.” It had only been a week since their bosses signed on their behalf.</p><p>"Don't you have your own money?" What a stupid question to have to ask. Surely Starscream had his own salary but of course he wouldn't use it when another's dime was available. Prowl wasn't sure why he'd bothered asking something so obvious.</p><p>"Please, of course I do but you should know by now with all of your data that that fool Megatron lives like a miser and assumes that's how <em>all</em> of High Command should live. I'm practically a <em>pauper</em>." Well, not with Prowl’s second-in-command salary in hand he certainly wasn’t.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Prowl wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up in this position. That bothered him quite a bit on a rather personal level given his pride in accurately predicting outcomes based on probabilities and simulations. None of the simulations he’d run ended up with him stuck in the storage closet of what would nominally be his own home underneath a grey, growling turbofox named Butch, all while Starscream had a good laugh at his misfortune from the doorway.</p><p>“At least use the front door like a normal mech." Nevermind the fact that Starscream had specifically removed his access from the pad on the front door. "Now <em>I</em> have to pay—” With <em>Prowl’s</em> money. “—to have someone repair and replace <em>all</em> of the ductwork.”</p><p>Maybe... he really ought to look into that set of keys Rodimus had given him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Added a chapter as part of a warm-up exercise. This fic does not have a pre-planned plot.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tell me again how <em>exactly</em> this happened?” Ratchet pulled a screwdriver out of his toolkit, blatantly ignoring the unpleasant expression on Prowl’s face.</p><p>This was <em>not</em> how Prowl wanted to be in the medical center. Generally he didn’t really want to be in the medical center <em>at all</em>. Today, he didn’t really have much choice. </p><p>After getting jumped by one of Starscream’s <em>many</em> turbofoxes—Butch, specifically, what a terrible name—in the middle of the night when he’d fallen out of the ceiling, Prowl had found himself with a brand new problem. A problem that had only manifested after he vacated the premises of the apartment he had been barred from. After he had transformed to vehicle mode to return to the cheap, hastily-constructed government building that housed his office, certain… <em>features</em> refused to turn off. </p><p>Just what he needed while trying to conduct an investigation of the outlandishly spacious residential property he was forcibly paying for but being kept out of. Suspicious. What did that seeker need all of those turbofoxes and all that unnecessary space for anyway?</p><p>While he had finally managed to get his siren silenced during the night, much to the relief of everyone who worked the night shift, there was still one, minor but incredibly aggravating symptom plaguing him this morning that he needed <em>professional</em> assistance with.</p><p>“<em>No.</em> Just get those hazard lights <em>off.</em>”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Several nights later, Prowl lay awake on the cot he had put in his office. It wasn’t the same as an actual recharge slab, but it would do. He hardly slept anyway. Recharging would be less efficient but that was nothing new. He’d done that almost every night—the ones he had actually slept during anyway—for millions of years while the Autobots had been embroiled in a war. The quiet of night let him think, as he stared up at his ceiling with a frown, arms folded across his middle.</p><p>What was Starscream up to? What was his scheme? Just what had Megatron put him up to? </p><p>Rodimus hadn’t provided Prowl with a copy of the conjunxual union documents. Sure, there was a chance Rodimus just hadn’t gotten around to it yet or forgot because he had a processor like a jar of sand full of holes. Then again, it had been over a month since the Prime and that overgrown, egotistical pistol had signed for their second-in-commands as proxies. As a result, Prowl wasn’t feeling particularly generous about the whole situation.</p><p>Even though the window in his office was closed, an aggravatingly chilly breeze still blew in and stirred the strings of the primitive cork-board he’d put up on his wall. The entire building the security and law enforcement departments had been stuffed into was drafty with awkward ventilation. A brief thought popped into Prowl’s mind that perhaps he should have bought some sort of thermal tarpaulin to keep at least a little warm. </p><p>With a grumble, he rolled over onto his side, accidentally kicking his desk for the fiftieth time that night in the process. The haphazardly stacked datapads and dataslugs shook and clattered from the force. No damn space in this damn place.</p><p>For one thing, he <em>needed</em> those conjunxual documents. Perhaps an after-hours trip into Rodimus’ office was in order, but that wasn’t Prowl’s <em>only</em> lead, merely the most at-hand one.</p><p>On a little shelf attached to the wall near the desk, between which the cot was sandwiched, those… obsolete keys that he’d received from the Prime sat, waiting. What exactly were they for? Sure, probably Starscream’s old apartment in Kaon. Rodimus’ guess about them wasn’t likely to be far off, but Kaon was… rather out of the way. </p><p>What if getting him out of the city was Starscream’s goal? What if the keys were a plant? A false lead to draw the commander further away, to distract him from what was really going on here. Megatron had been the one to hand over the keys to Rodimus after all. A trap or wild cyber-goose chase was certainly more than possible. Decepticons weren’t called that for <em>nothing</em>, a faction of duplicitous bastards; never mind the supposed “you are being deceived” etymology nonsense they liked to spread.</p><p>
  <em>Propaganda.</em>
</p><p>The smudged, grimy keys did nothing but promise secrets and threaten misinformation as the commander shivered in a particularly strong gust from the breeze.</p><p>Prowl scowled at them, as though that would do anything, as though a glare could intimidate inanimate metal to spill the answers he wanted. They offered him a direct, unhindered view into Starscream’s life via his former residence. Surely the seeker had already removed all of his personal items, but there was a chance he hadn’t yet had the time.</p><p>Yet the possibility that he would find something to uncover the truth of this new, diplomatic game couldn’t be ignored. While his simulation program told him that the odds were low, a curious voice in the back of his processor just <em>wouldn’t</em> let the idea go.</p><p>With a grumble, Prowl reached out his hand and snatched up the keys from the shelf. He told himself it was just so he wouldn’t have to look at them anymore. Tossing them into his subspace, he knew he was just deluding himself for his own comfort, a weakness.</p><p>Without further ado, the patrol car rolled back onto his back, ignoring the sharp pains in his doors from where they were carelessly slapped against furniture and the cot. A datapad was swiped from the table and within five minutes, Prowl had booked himself an early morning transport to Kaon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I feel like I end up using the word 'asinine' at least once in all of my fics.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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